SUNJATA
the flood
i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind
on the pavement, blowing in the wind
A hum of a laugh leaves his throat in agreement with her. Maea certainly did seem that way – and Sunjata had nothing else to add to it to prolong that specific section of their conversation. Maea usually tended to keep tabs on things, that was her Loreseeker life seeping out in everything she did. Even if she wasn’t directly a part of the guild anymore, it would always be in her.
So instead he focuses on her next set of words, gaze flickering to the glass and spinning it around on the table in front of him if only to not directly have to look at Weaver and give her the benefit of the doubt of the emotions that cross over his face, the mask he wants to wear so desperately. But Weaver’s comment makes sense, and he nods his head quietly, silently, knowing it’s ridiculous to think somehow that it was his fault, but his mind always had a way of drifting back there. “That’s true.” Is all he can really say.
Still, he can’t open the letter just yet – still not drunk enough to read the words in her penmanship. So he fiddles with the feather instead, with the glass of alcohol to try and bandaid it as long as he can. Her hand leaves his other one and it gives him a moment to finish the rest of the contents in his glass in a slight attempt to get there quicker.
The comment of loving and them leaving being better than not having done it at all sparks something he recalls telling Maea as well. Still, it fucking hurts time and time again. And with it, he levels his gaze with Weaver as he focuses on her. “I’d say the same, except for the fact this is how it always goes.” A muscle feathers in his jaw. “A few people? Sure. Basically everyone? There comes a point where perhaps it is better to not get attached. Easier that way.” A huff of a sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I've lost so many people Weaver. I'm done, I don't know how much more I can."
So instead he focuses on her next set of words, gaze flickering to the glass and spinning it around on the table in front of him if only to not directly have to look at Weaver and give her the benefit of the doubt of the emotions that cross over his face, the mask he wants to wear so desperately. But Weaver’s comment makes sense, and he nods his head quietly, silently, knowing it’s ridiculous to think somehow that it was his fault, but his mind always had a way of drifting back there. “That’s true.” Is all he can really say.
Still, he can’t open the letter just yet – still not drunk enough to read the words in her penmanship. So he fiddles with the feather instead, with the glass of alcohol to try and bandaid it as long as he can. Her hand leaves his other one and it gives him a moment to finish the rest of the contents in his glass in a slight attempt to get there quicker.
The comment of loving and them leaving being better than not having done it at all sparks something he recalls telling Maea as well. Still, it fucking hurts time and time again. And with it, he levels his gaze with Weaver as he focuses on her. “I’d say the same, except for the fact this is how it always goes.” A muscle feathers in his jaw. “A few people? Sure. Basically everyone? There comes a point where perhaps it is better to not get attached. Easier that way.” A huff of a sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I've lost so many people Weaver. I'm done, I don't know how much more I can."
you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end
just a little bit more than you gained in the end
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
